


Sweet Gally of Mine

by Tisaniere



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, alternative universe, gally ain't so bad, thomas is a goof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisaniere/pseuds/Tisaniere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various one-shots in the world of Gally and Newt as a couple.</p><p>Chapter 1 - Party for Newt </p><p>~ Chapter 2 - Leftie<br/>Gally is useless with a broken hand and Newt doesn't want him apologising for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Party for Newt

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the middle of writing a meatier, AU Newt/Thomas fic but this Gally/Newt established relationship idea just kept getting stuck in my brain. I thought writing it would dislodge it! It will probably be a series of one-shots on their life together, mostly fluff (maybe a bit of smut later on which explains the mature rating!) and a bit of angst (no sad endings though). 
> 
> I'm mostly going off the film characterisation and looks, especially Gally, who I just found much more relatable in the film version. I have read the first book in the series but please excuse any mistakes: I am only a greenie.

Newt pulled a face at the bitter taste of the last gulp of warm beer from the bottom of the can. He dropped it into the bin and watched it roll over dozens of its compatriots piled up inside the plastic container. A few were dislodged and a smell of sticky beer wafted back to him like a belch.  
  
The kitchen was surprisingly empty. Wasn’t the kitchen supposed to be the centre of every house party? He seemed to have found it in a moment of abandonment; everyone was too busy dancing in the living room or gossiping in hushed whispers in the confines of the hallway.  
  
Water. He needed water.  
  
Newt grabbed a pint glass and spun the tap. He didn’t care if it was hot or cold, he just needed water. He downed the whole thing in five long, grateful gulps. It wasn’t until he put down the glass that he noticed Minho in the door. He looked like he’d been watching his throat move as he drained the glass. It wasn’t hard to feel pinned under one of Minho’s stares.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hey. Thirsty?”  
  
“What do you bloody think?”  
  
“Are you ok?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Minho cast a glance over his shoulder then stepped into the kitchen. He had his arms crossed his chest, hands braced on the biceps that he’d worked hard in the gym for and now enjoyed showing off (his friends were kick to point out) like a crowing peacock  
  
“You’re at a party. You look like you’re at a funeral. You sick or something? ‘Cos you should know better than anyone not to drink too much of Gally’s punch.”  
  
That made Newt smile, and a small breathy laugh escaped his lips, “Yeah. That’s true. It’s not that though, I’m not sick.”  
  
“So what is it?”  
  
Newt didn’t know. There was a heavy, cold hand on the back of his neck. A sadness pressing down on him. That was it, really. He just felt sad.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Right. Well then there’s no excuse to hide out in the kitchen at your own house party is there?”  
  
Minho crossed the room in three long strides, lifted a cold beer out of the ice in the sink and cracked it open with strong fingers. He placed it in Newt’s hand, close enough that Newt could see exactly how much gel he had put in his hair for the party. Who was that for the benefit of?  
  
“Stop pouting and go enjoy the party.”  
  
Minho was right. Being alone just made this feeling worse. He sipped the beer and followed Minho back into the noise and the heat. As though given some sort of silent permission to re-enter a horde of guests pushed past them into the kitchen. Amongst them was Chuck, brown curls bobbing. He gave Newt a big thumbs up as he passed. Chuck was by far the youngest at the party and a long way off the legal drinking age. But his parents, their upstairs neighbours, trusted the boys to keep an eye on him. And as long as Chuck was out of their hair they could spend more time passive aggressively ignoring each other all night. Newt had felt sorry for the boy long before he even met his parents. He’d heard the screaming arguments and then the long, stone-cold silences. Newt knew what it felt like to be in a house split into two sides like a boxing ring.

“Hey, Newt, where you been?”  
  
Thomas smacked a warm hand against his shoulder and leant in close. The toothy, goofy grin and the bright eyes that made everyone share in his laughter had a slightly blurred quality. He was really quite drunk. He lived the furthest away and Newt was already adding him to the column of people he suspected to find passed out in his living room the next morning. Someone cut the music, there was a lot of squawking and fighting, then it burst back to life.

“What slinthead is messing with my playlist?!” A familiar voice roared over Newt’s shoulder. It was accompanied by two hot hands sliding onto his waist, the shape of a body that Newt knew inside out was pressed briefly against his back, then he caught sight of the side of Gally’s jaw as he moved past them, the smell of his aftershave, and he was gone into the living room to bring law and order back to the iPod.  
  
“Should have known Gally picked this stuff,” Thomas said over the music, talking close to Newt’s ear, “What the hell is it?”

“Beats me.”  
  
He ran his fingers over his side where Gally’s large hand seemed to have left a ghostly imprint. All of a sudden he wanted nothing more than the hand back, to fit his own into it and feel it push hard against his hip bone. Gally was in the living room though, daring the guy who had touched the iPod screen to do the same again.  
  
Daring, not threatening. Gally straddled that line between violent and simply forceful in a very delicate way, but if Newt was there he never strayed too far on the wrong side.  
  
“Your boyfriend has a shit taste in music,” Thomas said. He was just about drunk enough to get it into his head to take Gally on. Newt didn’t doubt that later Thomas would be knelt in front of the iPod speakers putting on something, anything - Taylor Swift, One Direction, Spice Girls - that would make Gally hit the roof.  
  
Newt, mood perked by the bright grin of his best friend, threw an arm around Thomas’s shoulders, “I don’t know how I manage with him.”  
  
“No, me either.”  
  
“Where’s Teresa?”

Thomas was swaying under Newt’s strong arm. Thomas was hilarious when drunk. 

“There. Talking to that, to that…piece of klunk Ben.”

Ah, Ben. A mutual friend of Gally and Minho. Ben and Thomas had never got on and no-one really knew why. Thomas didn’t dislike people easily. He was the puppy of the group: always eager to see the good side of people, to trust and find the good side in people. Ben had managed to turn him from a puppy to a guard dog.

And that certainly wouldn’t be helped by the scene unfolding before them in the corner of the living room. Teresa, black hair rolling over bare shoulders that were squeezed artfully out of a black top was laughing with Ben - broad, handsome in a bland way - as he told a story. They both took a moment to drink delicately from their beer bottles, lick their lips, then Teresa caught Thomas and Newt watching them.

“Oh shit.”

Thomas turned to escape in the same direction as Newt did, and with the blonde’s arm still over his shoulder it turned into a messy face-clash, leaving them completely vulnerable as Teresa stalked across the room towards them.

“Can I help you two?”

“Uhh,” Thomas said, drunkenly, his can of beer squashed between his and Newt’s chest.

Newt tried a winning smile, but with his arm tangled around Thomas’s shoulder he looked no less guilty. Teresa quirked an eyebrow.

“Hey Teresa. Sorry we were just-”

“Staring at me talking to Ben?”

“Not staring at you, just, you know…um.”

Teresa couldn’t help herself, and laughed through her gloss-frosted lips, “Before you two start a whole…thing, Ben was chatting me up. I said no thanks. That’s it.”

“Yeah, sure, ok,” Thomas said, nodding furiously.

Teresa looked them up and down, “Right. Well, Newt, you can let your other boyfriend go now.”

Newt removed his arm. He looked down at his shirt where Thomas, in his fright, had squeezed his beer can and sticky brown Budweiser had burst onto his shirt.

“Bloody hell.”

Teresa patted his shoulder without an ounce of sympathy and dragged Thomas off to dance. In their place was Gally, one of those fervent eyebrows of his raised.

“So, Minho just told me that Teresa asked Ben out?”

Minho was lounging by the fireplace, beer in hand and talking in a whisper to Winston. Newt wasn’t surprised: though Minho didn’t look it, he was a devious gossip.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard Ben asked her out and she said no.”  
  
“From who?”

“Teresa.”

“Oh, best believe her then. That’s perfect, actually.”

“Why?”

“Well when Ben starts all that shit about how he got off with her I can call him on it.”

Gally took a look at him, top to toe.

“You got beer on your shirt.”

Newt peered down at the slowly spreading damp patch on his chest. “Yeah, that was Thomas. He’s…”

“Pissed?”

“A bit. I’d better go and change. I stink like a bloody brewery.”

He didn’t expect Gally to follow him. They hadn’t locked their bedroom door and it was a bloody miracle that no-one was in there making out on the bed. Newt didn’t say anything as he rifled through their wardrobe for a clean shirt.

“You alright?” Gally asked. Newt knew that tone a mile away.

“Yeah, I am. Why?”

“Just…you look so serious, that’s all.”

“You lot say I always look serious.”

“No. Not always. You usually look responsible, or determined, or whatever you want to call it. You don’t usually look ‘serious’. In fact when you’re not being any of those things, you look pretty happy.”

Newt dragged the new t-shirt over his head, taking a deep breath of the smell of their washing powder. When he opened his eyes Gally was still watching him from the other side of the bed.

“You know…you’ve sort of been like this for a while.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Gally moved around the bed and took Newt’s skinny wrists in his own large hands. Skinny though they may be, Gally could still trace the flexible, rigid muscles that flattened over slender, strong bones.

“Don’t need to say sorry.”

Gally’s kisses were softer than anything you’d imagine from a boy like him. You’d be wise to assume he was a fighter, not a lover, but Newt knew differently. He smelt like beer and heat, their wash powder, a weird mix of the smell of their friends, and underneath it all the chalky dust of his day job that clung to him no matter how many showers he took.

“You know why I threw this party?”

“So you could be the dictator in charge of the music?” Newt said, lips ghosting against Gally’s. He dug a finger into his ribs and the older boy ‘oofed’.

“No. I threw it for you. To cheer you up.”

A scattering of frown lines appeared between Newt’s eyebrows. His lips moved a little as he thought that through. “For me?”

“Yeah. You get…I don’t know, ‘sad’ like this sometimes. And I’ve noticed that having all of your friends around you cheers you up. You’re always happier when everyone else is being happy around you. I threw it to make you smile.”

Gally’s eyes flitted up and down, left and right, awkward all of a sudden, shoulders hanging and neck stiff. He shuffled a little in his big black boots, the kind that you’d think Gally - as a builder - would hate to wear in his spare time, but in fact were probably the one possession he’d return to save from a raging fire.

“You are…” Newt pressed his lips together to stop the laughter, “You are really sweet, do you know that Gally?”

“No, not really. I feel like you miss my amazing sweetness completely.” Gally’s mock pout was ruined by the laughter at the edge of his lips and in his eyes.

“Yeah well why you don’t you bloody show it more?”

“What?” Gally cried indignantly, then Newt shut him up with a deep kiss.

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t work did it, though? You still look…”

“Sad? Yeah. Minho told me.”

“Are you?”

“I guess so. I don’t know why. Not really anything I can blame it on. Maybe it’s work, maybe it’s my leg, I don’t know.”

Gally’s hand drifted automatically down to Newt’s hips, a strong hard press against his skin, and Newt knew those fingers itched to go down to the damaged part of that leg and rub away the pain. But it would never help, and Gally knew that.

“ _However_ …you are right. I like being around my friends, I like seeing them together. So this will help. I know it will.”

Gally pressed a kiss against the bridge of Newt’s nose.

“Good. Then you’ll like this bit of news. The guys are staying for the weekend. Teresa, Thomas, Minho, the lot of them. Even got Frypan and Winston to agree to it.”

“Staying?” Newt took a step back, “Staying where?”

“Here.”

“Here? In our one-bedroom flat?”

“I did warn them they might not have the best nights of sleep.”

“How long are they staying?”  
  
“Until Sunday. Party tonight, recovery tomorrow. Bit of gaming, bit of cooking, bit more drinking tomorrow night. Lazy day on Sunday, make everyone a roast.”

“You planned all of this in secret?”

“Well, yeah. The fridge is full with all the food and booze we’ll need. All of their bags are hidden in our closet. I’m amazed you hadn’t realised.”

Newt spun around to the innocent-looking wardrobe he had just searched through for a shirt. He hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re bloody unbelievable Gally.”

“In a good way?”

“Shuckin’ hell.”

And whilst Newt was showing just how much he appreciated Gally’s willingness to be unbelievable for him, someone in the living room had noticed Gally’s absence and was creeping with outstretched fingers to the iPod dock.

Halfway through a breathless kiss that had all of Newt’s blood rushing to places down south, Gally ripped away from him and cocked his head, like a bloodhound with a scent.

“Which shank just changed the music?!”

Completely forgetting the intimate moment between the two of them Gally burst out of the bedroom to hunt down whoever had chosen to play Sexy And I Know It, and Newt fell after him laughing. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was responsible.

If there was one person who thought he looked sexy and knew it, it was Thomas after a few cans of beer.

“I’m going to break your fingers Thomas!”

“I’m sexy and I know it, Gally, try and stop me!”

“Where the hell did you put the iPod?!”

“ _‘And when I’m at the beach, I’m in a speedo tryna tan my cheeks’_.”

“Put your bloody clothes back on!”


	2. Leftie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Gally discuss Gally's broken hand and how he needs to stop apologising for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, another one happened. But if I whack them out and put them up here then I can get on with some Thomas/Newt goodness. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely kudos on the last chapter guys. Any feedback greatly appreciated! It's quite weird translating these characters into 'modern' universe!

“Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you, erm…come in the bedroom for a minute?”

Newt looked up from the magazine he’d been reading, noting for the first time the gloom of dusk that had settled over the living room. He reached across to turn on a light as he stood up from the sofa. 

“Newt?”

“Yeah, coming.”

The hallway was dark too. How long had he been engrossed in that magazine? As he walked the hallway he could hear someone doing the same upstairs. He wondered if Chuck’s parents had forgiven them yet for letting Chuck stay all night at their most recent house party. Newt couldn’t understand why they were so angry: if they had been that bothered they could have come downstairs and collected him themselves. 

“Yep?”

It was dark in their bedroom as well. Were they on an energy saving drive or something? Newt’s hand went to the switch and the overhead light snapped on to illuminate Gally, completely trapped in his sweater, standing by the wardrobe. 

“What the hell?”

“I’m _stuck_ ,” Gally said, between his teeth. 

He was stuck alright. The velcro of the support around his right wrist had become snarled in the material of the sweater, and the strap that was supposed to keep his arm to his chest had got tangled in the hood. 

He was only his boxers on his bottom half and his bare toes were curled against the carpet. 

Newt couldn’t help but laugh. He put a hand over his mouth to try to stop it but it kept bubbling up at the sight of his boyfriend, all scowls and gritted teeth, completely stuck like a little boy who couldn’t the find the neck hole on his t-shirt.  

“Shut. Up.”

“That’s bloody priceless, Gally.”

“Newt, come on. Help me.”

“Say please,” Newt said, with one of those smiles that crinkled his forehead. 

Gally sighed and said through tight lips, “Pretty please, Newt.”

Newt raised an eyebrow and started to help him work out where the problem was. 

“It’s not my fault that you broke your hand and sprained your wrist in the first place.”

“Did I say it was?”

“You were the one who thought that a wall needed punching.”

Gally hissed as Newt gave his wrist support a gentle tug, freeing it from the velcro. 

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“Never become a nurse or a doctor, Newt. You have crap bedside manner.”

“And have to deal with patients like you? Not a chance.”

With one final twist of the fingers Gally’s sweatshirt was clear of the strap. Newt lifted it up over his head and dropped it gently onto the bed. 

“Thank you.”

“What were you trying to do, any way?”

“I was trying get changed. Thought we could just stay in watch a movie tonight.”

Newt went straight to the top drawer under the window and found the black soft pants Gally spent way too much time in and rarely washed. 

“Why? You didn’t have any other plans did you?”

“No. Thomas said he was going to come over but…you know what he’s like, he’ll have probably got distracted by something.”

“Sounds about right. Thomas gets distracted by shiny things and bright lights.”

“Be nice.”

There was no way to help Gally put his pants on artfully, or with dignity, so the two ended up squabbling with Newt on his knees front of him and Gally directing him like he did the newbies on the building site. 

“Bloody hell, Gally.”

“I said wait a minute, my foot is stuck.”

“How are you going to manage this until the cast comes of? Six weeks…”

“Maybe I’ll get someone else to help me get changed.”

“Oh yeah? You are going to have to pay someone very handsomely if they have to help you into your tightie-whities in the morning.”

Gally swatted at Newt’s blonde head. 

“There.”

Newt attempted to drag himself to his feet but - stupidly - didn’t notice which leg he was pushing his weight on. The old knots of injury in muscle and bone sang out in pain. Everything from the knee down froze up solid and he hit the ground right on the kneecap of his other leg. 

Gally instinctively threw himself downwards to help. His tightly strapped arm got in the way and the stiff, heavy cast thunked down painfully onto the top of Newt’s head. 

“Ow, bloody hell.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

“Just leave it, I’m fine.”

Newt rolled himself into a sitting position and propped himself up against the bottom of their bed. He clenched his jaw in pain and glared at the offending limb stretched out in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Newt.”

“Not your fault. I just…I forget, sometimes.”

Gally used his one good hand to lower himself onto the floor and arranged himself next to his rather crumpled-looking boyfriend. 

“Want a massage?”

“You can try with one hand but - and I know they’re massive - just one of them may not do the job. And anyway, it’s your left.”

“So?”

“You are useless with your left hand.”

“How about I give leftie a chance to show you he’s up for any job?”

Newt couldn’t help but snort, “That’s bloody romantic, Gally.”

“Sorry.”

They sat like that for a while, Newt idly rubbing the seething muscles even though he knew it wouldn’t help, and Gally watching with his strapped-up arm hurting dully from the clash with Newt’s head. 

Newt glanced across at the cast and calculated the days Gally was going to spend one-handed. Too many. It seemed weeks ago that he got the phone call at 3am from a drunk Ben asking to pick up his equally drunk boyfriend from the ER. There had been ‘a fight’, although turned out most of the damage was done after the fight when Gally took his pent up frustration out on a brick wall. 

When Newt had turned up, with bed head and still in the clothes he had slept in, Gally was drunk and belligerent and sporting a smashed hand. Newt had let him sleep off the painkillers and the drink and then ripped into him. They had fought for a full day and a night afterwards. Too exhausted to do it any longer, Gally had made his final amends, Newt had forgiven him, and they had fallen asleep in a tangle on top of their bed sheets fully clothed.

It hadn’t been weeks ago, though, only days. But he hoped that Gally wasn’t still on eggshells because of it.  

“Gally-” Newt started, wanting to know, but Gally interrupted.  

“What can I do to help, then?”

“What?”

“Your leg? How can I help, if I can’t massage it?”

Newt narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, “Such as?”

“I could kiss it better.”

Now Newt rolled his eyes, “I’m not six, Gally.”

Regardless, Gally moved forward onto his knees and put a hand out to support himself, so that he was on all fours over Newt’s legs. His bad hand still strapped to his chest, he lowered himself down and kissed the soft material of Newt’s pants, right where the old injury burned. Newt could feel his breath tingle through the material, and the hot press of his lips against the tense skin of his leg. 

This could either be ridiculous or really hot, Newt thought. 

Gally looked up at him from where he was tented over his legs, and gave him an unsure smile. 

“Better?”

“Oh yeah, you just bloody cured me. It’s a miracle.”

“You’re so British and sarcastic."

“Piss off.”

“Want any more kisses whilst I’m down here or shall I get up?”

“Well, since you’re down there already…”

Newt’s phone trilled loudly from his pocket and the screen lit up brightly through the thin material. He scrabbled around to get it out as Gally rolled over onto his side, his arm still braced over Newt’s legs. 

“Who is it?”

“Thomas. ‘Hey Newt, you still up for tonight? Got distracted on PS3. Let me know.’”

Gally rubbed at one of his eyebrows with his good hand. A sure sign he was nervous. 

“Can you tell him not to come?”

“Why?”

“We’ve barely had any time together recently. You’ve been at school. I’ve been working, or trying to with this bloody thing on. It’d be nice to have an evening just us. Last night I thought we were going to have one then Chuck showed up and you invited him for pizza and PS3.”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“Can you just say no to Thomas for tonight? Please?”

Newt looked down at the text again, then lifted both hands to reply. 

“Fine. I’ll tell him I’ve got work to do.”

Once the text had sent he threw his phone to the side and fixed Gally, still draped over his feet, with one of his patented shrewd looks. 

“Done.”

“Great. Now I can order us some Thai, and we can watch Godzilla.”

Gally was about to get up when Newt grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back down on top of him. 

“Whoa, Newt-”

“Just wait a second and answer me one question.”

Gally was very close now, so close Newt could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes. He was paused anxiously. 

“What?”

“Are you trying to…’make up’ for the night you hurt your hand?”

“Newt-”

“Because I told you I don’t bloody want you to. You were an idiot, I yelled at you, you apologised, I accepted it, we moved on. You don’t need to keep being all sweet and slushy with me for the sake of it.”

Gally rolled his head and something in his neck cracked. Newt decided now was not the time to tell him how disgusting that was. 

“I promise I am not trying to make it up to you.”

Newt didn’t say anything for a moment, knowing Gally was on the verge of spilling…

“Ok, so maybe I am, a little bit. But can you blame me? I got pissed and broke my hand and you had to get up at the crack of dawn to come and pick me up. And I wasn’t particularly nice when you did because I was still drunk. I could have ruined my career if I had done anything more serious, my boss could have decided not to work around my injury for the six weeks and then we would be surviving on your student loan. It was stupid. Really stupid. Come on, Newt, you can’t blame me for trying to make all of that up to you?”

Newt shrugged his shoulders, “Not really. But I don’t want you to feel that you have to. I got over it. All of that stuff you mentioned didn’t happen. How can I get angry about what ifs?”

Gally chuckled, “You are always so reasonable, Newt.”

“Someone has to be around here.”

Newt leant forward to stop more explanations from Gally in their tracks with a kiss. 

“I forgive you. Stop trying to make it up to me.”

“Ok, I will. Can I still offer Thai food and a movie and it _not_ be me trying to make it up to you?

“Yeah, you can.”

“How about if I offer up a few more of those kisses whilst I’m down here?” Gally asked, suddenly all low voice and suggestible in Newt’s ear, “Or will that be seen as ‘making it up to you’?”

The noise that came out of Newt’s throat was a mixture of a growl and a laugh. 

“And how about we see if I can learn to do a few jobs with my left hand? Or shall I not, because that would be making it up to you?”

Newt slung an arm around Gally’s neck to whisper back, “Not at all. Oh, and I’m not spending the next five minutes wriggling you out of those pants, so say goodbye to them because they are about to get ripped off.”

“I’m liking this new bedside manner, Nurse Newt." 


End file.
